Bathroom Diary
by dervishandbanges
Summary: Is this really Quinn Fabray sitting in the bathroom crying her eyes out? It's totally her. Why is she? It's another story...
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. _

_A/N: So yeah, I've kind of a Quill mania right now. We're having a break from school so I wrote this out of boredom. I plan this to have three parts or so but, ahem, me and my multichapters… it can take a while xd I'll try complete it in the next few days. Enjoy this now. PS Reviews don't bite._

**Bathroom Diary**

**Part One**

I am sitting here, in this bathroom, my head against the cold wall. It probably seemed super childish of me, to run straight here, but I fail to care right now. The lesson has already started though and I should care about going to the classroom, apologizing for being late and taking a seat in my desk as usual; more, I should care about that quite soon, as I'm already ten minutes late.

But what would my excuse be? _Why _am I late? And – the teacher would ask, knitting her eyebrows – why are you crying, Quinn Fabray? Since I'd refuse to answer, she'd let me go, but she'd probably ask me to stay after the lesson and tell her everything. And the people would start talking for sure. No. I'm not going there. I'm sure I can write myself some sort of excuse justifying my absence.

It wasn't my fault anyway. It's because of _him_. I could actually go and report to Figgins, but then the Glee Club would probably be disbanded since no one would like to substitute for Mr. Schuester. Miss Holiday, perhaps? I don't know if I want Miss Holliday there.

I have to be honest with myself at least. It was _all _my fault.

It began in September. It _really_ began in September but I was so afraid of it and so shocked about it that I thought I was just getting nervous because of whatever and so I decided it was nothing I should care and/or worry about. And nothing that anyone apart from me should know about. Sometimes I'd just get sick without reason because I felt going to school would result in running from Glee meeting to the bathroom and crying my eyes out in a cabin. Which is exactly what I'm doing now. So I'd tell my mom I'm not feeling too good and I'd stay at home, watching "Aladdin" all day and eating Chinese takeaway. But that was after I realized that I…

Well. Let's just see how this started, shall we?

In September I was back at McKinley High, back to _rule _McKinley High. Sure it wasn't exactly like last year – I've given birth to a child, Finn was with Rachel (urgh), and Matt quit so we needed another member. But it was _nearly _like then. The Cheerio outfit looked perfect on me. I was ready to be the captain again. And Finn? Why would he matter? It's childish easy for somebody like me to find themselves a boyfriend.

So I came back to become the queen of this school. I enter Glee meeting – I know it's lame for me to be back there, but I really like this club after all. So I'm there again, I take a seat, feeling the eyes of these Glee losers upon me, admiration, jealousy… I'm proud of that, of my status, and the fact that even my friend envy this.

I look up at Mr. Schuester writing something on the board. He turns around, he smiles, and I'm struck right on the spot. I mean not that I never realized he was handsome or anything. But I never realized _how _handsome he was. After all I went through, Puck, Finn, Rachel and her personal issues nobody cares about, the baby, my parents, Mercedes, everybody, well… Schue in that amazingly sexy tight shirt suddenly appealed to me like some new form of a Greek god of love. He was tan, he was tall, and – which definitely can't be said about any of the high school hunkies, no matter their abs or their social status – he was mature. And when he looked at me with these beautiful eyes and when he smiled at me – well, I recognized that feeling. I was falling for him that very moment.

But I'm a smart girl, you know. I'm not like those crazy obsessive teens that follow handsome teachers around, break into their houses, collaborate with their wives in some mad way and when they realize they've no chances, they jump off bridges or whatever. This is so Rachel. I'm not Rachel. Sure, there are more differences between us. For example I know how to seduce a guy not by throwing myself in his arms and telling him I love him the first day I meet him. Also, I'm self-confident, making many things much easier. And I'm not selfish or annoying. Major differences.

So the first thing I did after I realized _this _was happening was ignore it. I'm experienced. If you really want somebody _not _to turn you on, tell yourself they never will and they never have. If you're convincing enough, it'll work. This method kind of gives you a hard time during the first month since this is the time you're usually the most infatuated with this person. But if you make it through the first month, you're nearly finished.

Soon I found it did me no good at all. Denial wouldn't work in this case; each time I entered the classroom I found him making me swoon with just opening his perfect lips to say something (have I mentioned Spanish language is probably the sexiest language on Earth? I don't know if it's scientifically proven or not, but men who speak Spanish grow two hundred percent hotter when they start to talk).

Still I doubted there could be anything I could do about this apart from spending afternoons learning Spanish (to be honest it turned out to be so effective that this year I never received a grade under B+) and spending evenings looking at his photos and driving myself mad. During lessons or Glee meetings I discreetly recorded his voice on my phone to listen to it later all the time; I heard him speaking when I went to sleep and when I woke up which killed my cell battery. Apart from that all I could do was wear heels all the time together with the tightest jeans I could find; I knew this was lame. I could see him and Miss Pillsbury at breaks, I could see him and Miss Holliday at Glee meetings… so I was with Sam for a while but it didn't really work out – how could it work out between me and someone with such a personality, or with _no _personality at all? Then I tried to make it up between me and Finn but found myself comparing him to Schue all the time – Finn, foolish Finn, he thinks being quarterback is the only thing that matters in life! Now I don't know why I wanted to be with him in the first place and why I considered him worthy of being my boyfriend since when I was pregnant he has proven he was anything but mature and responsible. And he hasn't changed.

Then one day Santana went up to me during break and said:

"Not sure if you noticed, Q, but you had Schue totally checking out your ass yesterday."

I blushed crimson red.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard" she said. "You better watch out, you know."

"Honestly, Santana, what is this about?"

She glared at me suspiciously.

"You aren't doing that on _purpose_, are you?" she asked. I turned away, heading for the classroom. I couldn't stand her and it wasn't because I hated her, but because I heard in her voice that she knew. Well, maybe not _knew_, but was about to find out – for sure.

"Don't know what you're talking about," I mumbled.

She followed me and stopped me.

"You can be honest with me, you know that, Q."

"Actually I don't think I can."

"Let me ensure you you're most welcome to. I will know what is going on when something _will _be going on, you know that. So you better confess everything if you don't want me to spread rumors you wouldn't wish to be spread. So if there's anything I should know about, you better tell me now before I make the whole story out. Don't think nobody notices you staring at him when he turns around."

"Look, S, this is ridiculous."

She glowered at me once more before spinning on her heel, saying:

"Whatever. Just remember what I told you. Watch out."


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: No characters or generally anything is mine._

_A/N: Alright, I promised to give you the second part and here it is! It's still warm but I'm all gloomy after Panasewicz lost in the Polish "Clash of the Choirs" and I need something to cheer me up (something apart from exams after lower high which are in two weeks -.-). You know what I'm talking about? Yup. The fat review button is longing to be clicked. PS If you notice any ugly grammar mistakes pleeaease let me know! _

* * *

**Bathroom Diary**

**Part Two**

I need to blow my nose. I'm going to suffocate if I don't.

So what was I talking about before a group of giggling first-graders ran into here and I needed to control my sobbing in order to make it soundless (physically impossible)? Oh, yeah, Santana.

So Santana never mentioned _this issue _again. This really surprised me; the first two weeks after she walked up at me with this weird "watch out" I was genuinely afraid she was going to blow this and tell someone – well, everyone. This was supposed to be a secret. Well, I didn't really want this to exist, but pretending before myself it didn't just made it worse.

Sure, I caught Santana staring suspiciously at me during Glee or Spanish lessons, when I tried to look everywhere but on Schuester (I usually chose Sam's head as my checkpoint, for he sat right below me, or the right blackboard wing, exceptionally neutral), or I noticed she would study Schue when we were leaving the classroom; but generally she kept the secret she never had.

Then the time came that I formally was with Finn (you know, _after Regionals_), but then I found out he wanted to be with Rachel because he was connected with her, like a magical bond that cannot be broken – fizzy stupid stuff and she's a fizzy stupid whore. I _really _thought Finn was mine once more and everything could be like last year, as if I never slept with Puck because _this _was the point that everything broke down and was only worse later. And I _really, really _thought – well, hoped so – that if I made Finn fall for me once more, then maybe, in time, I'd fall for him once more too and so I could forget about the feeling that haunted me – that I'm coming to school every morning only to spend an hour or two gazing at Schuester, watching his shirt move over his body as he was walking or dancing (ahh) or fixing my eyes upon the subtle pattern of wrinkles around his eyes or his lips (ahh twice). I know what I was trying to do was desperately trying to fit a label that once belonged to me – or I was trying to get away from another label that I was putting on myself. Sounds pretty pathetic, but that's true. I clung to those moments as if they were the only time in my day that I could really breathe; when they were over, I would stroll around the corridors like I wasn't really alive.

After Coach Sylvester's sister's funeral Finn and I kind of split which was weird. The guy that was supposed to totally want me just left me for, you know, Rachel. And I was becoming Rachel by doing what Rachel used to do, a year ago or so. I remember her gaping at Mr. Schue with her mouth open, her mouth _watering _actually; if you were attentive enough you could see a threadlike stream of saliva trickling out her mouth and dribbling down her chin before she noticed and brushed it away with her fingers. Gross, isn't it? A fine amount of time ago I used to have nightmares featuring Rachel and her mouth open while staring at Finn (who was my sort of boyfriend, mind you).

And so I was left alone.

It was difficult for me, the time after that. I would spend my nights lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling or sitting in the corner, my arms around my knees, hiding my face behind a curtain of hair and weeping over my miserable life. Then in the morning, terribly worn-out, my skin grayish and dark circles under my puffy eyes, I would take a shower and spend over twenty minutes contemplating my clothes and doing my hair and putting on the make-up so I look like a human being. I would go to school, wait for the Spanish class, when it was over long for the Glee meeting, and then I'd go home to watch "Aladdin" once again.

One day, just after the Glee meeting, Schue left the classroom leaving us the keys so we lock the door after we go, telling us he had some business and he couldn't stay and ordering us to bring the keys back to him, everyone was packing their things when suddenly Finn and Rachel (ew) broke into some kind of fight. A big fight, too. Soon we surrounded them as if it was a cock fight; I know this is super childish but it excited us to watch our number-one couple argue.

It started out when Finn got up from his seat and started packing without even one look at Rachel. He did seem quite upset the whole day and Rachel failed to promenade gloriously down the corridors, she sat on the stairs during every single break instead.

When Finn got up, preparing to leave, she caught him by the arm and he snapped at her to sod off. Then she caught him once again, Rachel broke into tears (while everyone turned away to look at them and were like urgh, what a freak out).

"Honestly, what is your problem?" Finn hollered.

"_You _are my problem, Finn!" she replied, sobbing. "What have I done to you?"

"You betrayed me!"

"What? No! And even if I did, which I did not, I didn't mean it."

(Everyone was like "wtf?", but encircled the couple anyways).

"How could you not mean trying to get him in your pants for some ridiculous revenge?"

"It wasn't my fault" howled Rachel, grabbing his sweatshirt, because Finn was just about to turn on his heel and leave. "I just felt so left out all the time! First I found out about Santana and you and then I found out about Quinn…"

"What?" Finn and I said in the very same moment.

I shouldn't have said anything though.

"Don't seem so surprised!" Rachel bellowed. "Both of you! And especially _you—_"

(Here she pointed her claw at me).

"I cannot understand how can you be so mean, so cruel, to both of us, and then seem surprised when I speak of what everyone knows is true!"

"Honestly, Finn, you should take her to a doctor or somebody." I said.

Rachel was white with rage. Well, actually, she was red. She had tears in her eyes and – oh, my goodness – saliva on her chin again.

"Santana told me!" she screeched. "Santana told everyone! And to be honest, Santana seems more fair with me than my own boyfriend! So," she wailed on, turning to Finn, "when I found out about Quinn, what could I have done?"

"You could have called me or talked to me and I would've explained this absurd misunderstanding" Finn said. "or you could've talked to Quinn like civilized people usually do. There is nothing going on between me and Quinn."

"Cal Lightman would've told you" I said.

"Exactly. What did Santana tell you?"

"Probably what she told everybody else," Puck shrugged. "That Finn was getting tired of Rachel and he was thinking of going back to you, Quinn. And you didn't, ah, reject him."

Tina giggled.

"I think Finn and I are the only people who are sure _nothing _happened." I said. "It's high time the rest of you should stop believing Santana in anything she says. Even if I wanted to come back to Finn, which I do not, I surely wouldn't trust in Santana to keep the secret, alright? Whatever she told you is a lie."

"Exactly" Finn admitted and he smiled at me.

Rachel, using this moment of confusion, hopped right in front of me, looked at me with these eyes of a madman and slapped me.

What was even more weird – it actually hurt me.

I touched my cheek with my hand. It was stingily hot.

But before I realized that, Rachel ran out of the room, whimpering.

Nobody spoke for a while and then we all headed off.

I left the room as the last one so I took the keys from the piano, I locked the door and went up to Mr. Schuester's office to return the keys. Alright, I visited the bathroom on my way there to ensure I looked okay and that my slapped cheek didn't look too red. It looked okay, but maybe it was because of the light.

"Quinn" Schue called when I knocked at the door and entered. He grinned up at me.

"I brought the keys, Mr. Schue" I said.

"Alright. Put them on the desk. Thanks."

Leaving, I took my cell phone out of the pocket to check the time.

"Okay, I'm leaving for the bus. See you tomorrow, Mr. Schue."

My mum needed the car for some business in town and so she drove me to school in the morning but took the car back home – that's why I had to get to the bus stop on time.

"Hold on, you're going by bus?" Schue asked as he rose, a magnificent sexy figure enlighten by the sunlight.

"Um, yeah. Car's busy today."

"How about I drive you home?"

"I don't think I live on the way or anything."

"It doesn't matter."

"But you're still occupied."

"I just finished actually."

"Okay, if you insist… I guess you can drive me home."

He smiled once more as he grabbed his coat and threw it over his perfect broad manly arms.

He's going to drive me home, I thought, he's going to drive me home.

But he didn't.

When we entered his car he didn't even bother to start the engine for a while. He turned the radio on and took the keys out of his pocket and he looked at me and I looked at him and then suddenly he threw me against the window and started to kiss me.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Again, nothing mine! Written for fun only._

_Oh my God guys sorry for being THAT late. I thought it would take me less time to finish it. Now I finally have holidays after quite a busy school year. Ho ho, end of rambling, especially about school, since it's holiday. On with the story! In this short part the rating is now rising up to an M, just to be safe. Nothing too graphic. Turned out a bit shorter than I thought… and a bit rougher. Never mind. I hope you guys like it. + don't forget that the review button is feeling lonely. _

_PS There is a song that I was listening to while writing it – "Take the Lead (Wanna Ride)" by Wisin y Yandel ft. Bone Thugs & HArmony. I think it kind of fits. Check it out?_

**Bathroom Diary**

**Part Three**

Good God. Now I'm going to be sick. I lean against the toilet, I throw up, I cry. I'm not going anywhere now. I climb up clumsily on the window sill, so nobody can see me sitting on the floor. I'm afraid they might recognize my beautiful new ankle booties I just bought several days ago and my super skinny pink jeans. If anyone found out that it's me in this freaking toilet… God, I'm supposed to be a strong woman, right? I kind of failed.

I hate to remind myself of what happened in that car. And what happened later. It's embarrassing – even if him and me remain the only people to be aware of that. I just don't want to think what is going to happen at Glee club today. How will I be able to look him in the eyes? I open the window a little bit. The fresh air brings the nauseous feeling of disgusting heaviness in my stomach to an end.

I don't remember it clearly. All I know is that when I say that he started to kiss me, I don't mean any romantic cute stuff that's good for thirteen-year-olds. Generally I never imagined kissing Mr Schuester – because, yeah, I did think about it – like a romantic cute moment from an Ashton Kutcher style comedy. So when I say that he started to kiss me, I mean my head crashing painfully into the windowpane, that my hair magically falls loose, that his fingers tangle in what just a moment ago had been my braid while his other hand travels somewhere between my beautiful new blouse and my back, and my hands, first frozen with surprise and unsure what to do, find their place somewhere near the collar of his light blue shirt. During Glee that day I remember watching him go all sweaty while singing something and this shirt stuck to his back, just here and there, but it still left an outline of his wonderfully muscular back. I'm embarrassed to notice that I close my eyes now, trying to remember the feeling of his lips claiming mine, his tongue dancing with my tongue, rough and quick, the car's door pressing painfully into my shoulders and my upper back, and then, when he suddenly stopped, his hot breath against my bare neck.

And I also mean that when next he asks me if I am entirely sure whether I want to go straight home – and his voice sounds different than usually, silent, hoarse, shaky, breathy, incredibly sexy – I tell him no.

He didn't look at me when he was speaking and I was looking away as well. He spoke to my collarbone and my throat answered him; he didn't ask _me, _Quinn Fabray, anything and I did not reply.

He moved away from me, straightening himself, licking his lips. It took unbearably long to get to his apartment. Mr Schue did not move his eyes from the road the entire time, leaning forward, blinking a lot, his fingers clenching the wheel tightly. He didn't say anything, he just turned the music up while I fixed my hair nervously, glancing at him once a while just to look down again, blushing because of some unknown reason.

When we got to the parking lot he opened the car door for me and led me inside. I watched his hands tremble slightly when he moved the turned the key in the lock. I entered his apartment, looking around tensely as he carefully locked the door behind us. He took my coat off and hanged it, removed his own coat and his scarf, and I put my bag on the floor, and it began.

Oh my God, now when I think about this, I think I'm going to throw up once more. I open the window a little more, but I'm still feeling terribly sick.

It was such a mess, him and me. He literally ripped my clothes off me and I did the same with his; he kissed me and he touched me and I was his, so totally his. I didn't quite mind when he pushed me – no, he _shoved _me, or rather threw me, against the wall, I didn't think, I couldn't, so lost I was in my adoration. My mind stopped working, I lost whatever was left of my self-control, my body did it all itself. And then he grunted something incomprehensible and I screamed because it hurt like hell when he entered me. He shifted, the pain stopped, my head fell back, I hit the wall once more, I opened my eyes, closed them once more, it wasn't his name escaping my lips, I don't know what it was, it wasn't really a sound, it came from somewhere down my stomach, he lifted me a little more upwards—

I practically fall of my sill, crawl to the open toilet, I vomit again. There's really nothing to throw up, I didn't eat anything since yesterday lunch, so it's just the acidic, stinging soreness in my throat. I feel so heavy. Flush the toilet, this smell is horrible.

And, well, that was basically it. Nothing too important, nothing worth remembering.

"I think you should go now, Quinn," he said when he was done, pulling his pants up his legs. He wasn't looking at me, his stare fixed on the floor. I nodded weakly, dressed up hastily, and left, my head pulsating painfully, tears burning my eyes, running freely down my cheeks. I walked – or rather ran – all the way home, locked myself in the bathroom and took a cold shower that seemed to last ages. It was _really _cold, my whole body felt numb and slow, but the tears were hot and I couldn't stop them falling.

Later, when I was in bed already, I felt ill, like in a very high fever, and I couldn't sleep, I just blinked, just like he did, when he was driving me to his apartment.

I didn't sleep at all that night.

So, well, yes, that is it. The whole story.

I know that I should get up, but I can't move my legs. I'm lying on the floor which is so cool against my cheek. I think the fever is coming back again.

The revolting wet smell of the bathroom surrounds me as slowly I manage to stand up and leave. I see my pale reflection in the mirror, with the dark rings under my eyes. I look like a ghost. When I swallow, I still feel the sour ache in my throat.

The corridors are empty, but it's just a matter of minutes for the bell to ring and for students to storm out of their classrooms. I meet nobody's eyes as I walk up to the classroom for the next lesson. People try to ask me why I missed Math, but I just tell them I felt sick (that's true) and had to visit the nurse (well, I _could have_, but I didn't). Santana eyes me up and down suspiciously.

Hours pass and it's Glee. The heavy feeling comes back to my stomach.

"Today," Schue says, writing something on the whiteboard, "you are going to think of things you regret most. Being aware of your mistakes is a part of becoming a mature person."

And he rambles on about facing your faults and being responsible.

But the word he leaves on the whiteboard is just "Remorse".


End file.
